Never Been Loved(18)

Red’s spray-painted over my world, and I have to fight myself to remain seated. Murder will not get me what I want, what I need. I’m too fucking frazzled and pissed right now to even make it look like an accident.

I need to be alone right now. I bolt for the door, making sure I close it behind me. I want to pace down the hall, back and forth, back and forth, working off my anger in a healthier way. But fuck, she’s here. Right in front me.

Shorts, showing off her legs. A delectable ass that I want to sink my fingers into while I lift her up to straddle me. Light brown hair loose around her shoulders and down her back that I’m sure’d shine gold when the sun hits it just right. She leans forward to press the down button on the elevator.

No book this time. I might just be disappointed.

Instead, her iPod is held up at eye-level, and her thumb swipes up the screen as she scrolls through her music. I wonder what she listens to that has her smiling like that. At this point, she could listen to eighties boy bands and I’d still want her.

Oh Christ, she starts bobbing her head to the beat as she continues to scroll down her playlist. My palms start to itch, and my legs tremble. I want to move closer to her. I want to know her name.

I want her to know me.

I stumble forward and see what shirt she’s wearing. I grin. How do you like them apples? Jesus, she knows Good Will Hunting. Point one for her.

All right, now I have to say something. Anything. Just don’t be an asshole. Or creepy.

“Nice shirt.” Genius. I’m a fucking genius.

I watch a little line form between her eyebrows as she stares down at her playlist. Maybe she’s wondering if it came from the song? I clear my throat to try again. Then her eyes hit me, and I’m not sure if I’m standing anymore.

Fuck, she’s not wearing her glasses. I wish she was. Dress her up in a skirt and some stilettos, and she’s the sexiest librarian I’ve ever seen. The question is: can she get naughty? I want to find out.

Careful, careful. Calm the fuck down, you pervert.

“Huh?” Christ, can she be any more adorable? Her eyebrows are high on her forehead and her mouth (amazing mouth) parts open in surprise. Her eyes, though, they’re not entirely focused on me.

“Your shirt. I like it. Most people would say thank you.” I grin; she doesn’t grin back. Fuck, I’ve ruined my chance. I just don’t know how to do this, be good, be nice.

“Okay,” she says, clearing her throat. Again, with that little furrow between her eyebrows. Her lower lip pouts out and I need it in my mouth to taste. “Do you even know what it’s about?”

Ah, testing my knowledge. Making sure I’m worthy of a smile.

“Babe.” Damn it, that wasn’t supposed to come out. Just give me your name and I can take it back. I pull in her scent, that smell of a bakery and my mouth waters.

“Don’t call me babe,” she says, eyebrows popped even higher.

I smirk. Fine, I’ll show her. I’ve seen the movie so many times, I can do Matt Damon, no sweat. “Do you like apples?”

She grins. At me. Like I’ve given her a diamond instead of a few words.

My dick starts getting in on the action.

“I’m Sera. Nice to meet you.” She extends her hand, wiggling her fingers. I want to pound my chest that I have her name. “Most people shake the person’s hand when it’s offered to them,” she says, wiggling her fingers more impatiently.

I’m not sure what to do. I don’t think I’ve ever shaken a girl’s hand before, and this is not where I wanted it to go. I look down from her hand, to her face and to her hand again.

Sera isn’t the kind of girl you fuck and wash off. She’s the kind of girl you fuck, get her smell all over your sheets, take a shower with and go for round two. Then ask her to marry you because you know you’re not going to get anything better.

Sera’s the kind of woman that could be so much more.

We meet palm to palm and I swear I nearly lose it. She doesn’t know it, but this kind of respect is rare.

“HUNTER!” I jolt. What the fuck happened now? Did Matty get a paper cut or something, and Mom can’t deal? Shit, things were going well. I think. Maybe.

“See you later,” she says, glancing down at her iPod and hitting up another song, maybe. The elevator door opens and she walks in, turning to face me. We’re separated by more than distance now that Mom has ruined everything.

I want to say something more, something else. Ask for her number, maybe even ask her out to dinner like a normal guy would do. I rub the back of my head under my hood, letting the prickle of my hair tickle my palm, centering me. Then I think of all the shit that’s waiting for me at my apartment.